THEATER/DANCE

THEATER/DANCE; Aladdin As Customer Service Genie

By BENEDICT NIGHTINGALE

Published: November 30, 2003

LONDON—
WHERE will you find classes of young people painstakingly learning the names of America's state capitals, earnestly watching episodes of ''Friends'' and doggedly trying to distinguish between ''unh-unh,'' meaning no, and ''uh-huh,'' meaning yes?

Not in Boston or New York. In Bangalore: the Indian city whose call centers you may be unknowingly dialing when you need help with your computer or want to reserve a place on an American airline or in an American hotel.

Since the operators have also been given lessons in disguising their Indian accents in order to pass as Americans, those centers provide striking examples of the cultural complexities that particularly interest motiroti, a British-Asian performance-art troupe. And when motiroti's founders, Keith Khan and Ali Zaidi, discussed a possible collaboration with Marianne Weems, the director of the New York-based Builders Association, which creates multimedia productions with serious social content, they decided to focus on certain aspects of Bangalore: modern technology, cheap Indian labor and big savings for American industries.

The result is the performance piece ''Alladeen,'' most of which is set in a call center where Indian operators are seen putting their lessons into action. One cheerily cries ''My kind of town!'' to a Chicagoan he's trying to interest in a financial ''welcome package.'' Another instructs a woman on the best route from Los Angeles to Las Vegas. A third is dispatched by a manager back to call-center boot camp, since her accent fails to convince callers they are talking to a ''real'' American.

''Alladeen'' was seen in July in London and will be performed at the Harvey Theater at the Brooklyn Academy of Music from Tuesday through Saturday. As the title suggests, the piece had its inception in the tale of Aladdin and his magic lamp. Mr. Khan said in London that the first idea was to incorporate the Christmas pantomime still performed in England that is based on that folktale. But Ms. Weems wanted ''a contemporary hook,'' as she put it, and that materialized in March 2001, when she read an article published in The New York Times about Indian call centers under the headline ''Hi, I'm in Bangalore (but I Can't Say So).'' Here was Eastern magic, but created by phones, computers and fake American voices rather than dusty old lamps.

On a trip to Bangalore in September 2001, the collaborators attended training and monitoring sessions held by American companies, hearing operators who pretended they were Amy from New York or Joe from Baltimore deal with queries that ranged from the banal to the bizarre. A heavily indebted man tried to get his credit card reactivated. A wife tried desperately to discover which Philadelphia hotel her unfaithful husband had checked into.

''The masking of identity and the cultural grafting seemed to us an extraordinary metaphor,'' Ms. Weems said by telephone from Glasgow, one of the cities on the current tour of ''Alladeen'' (after Brooklyn, the next and last American stop will be Feb. 26-29 in the Redcat performance space at the new Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles). The operators' very selves, she felt, were being erased by a blend of technology and cultural colonialism. Mr. Khan called it ''fiber slavery.''

Yet apparently the operators themselves, while well aware of the incongruities of their jobs, did not feel exploited. They were young, well paid by local standards and believed they were acquiring skills that made it worth working through Indian nights in order to serve daytime America. ''Everyone we met was Aladdin,'' Mr. Khan said. ''They had a deep belief that they could get what they wanted -- go to America and marry a princess.'' The fable also permeates ''Alladeen'': Here are Indians wishing to change their lives, as Aladdin does. Here are Americans touching buttons and summoning up genies to provide goods and services.

Aladdin materializes in the technically elaborate production, as well as on the Web site (www.alladeen.com) and music video that motiroti and the Builders Association eventually produced. Above the stage there are film projections -- photos of the cast of ''Friends,'' interviews with operators and, yes, scenes and stills from old Aladdin movies -- and below it, constantly scrolling commentary. There is also plenty of swirl and bustle amid the gray desks and computers, but, with Ms. Weems, the director, in charge of movement, it's orchestrated swirl, choreographed bustle, to music samples by Shrikanth Sriram, a Bombay-born composer.

So is ''Alladeen'' a techno-savvy critique of technology? That is its creators' aim. ''We're retreating into the world of the self,'' Mr. Khan said, ''and it sometimes seems that technology is our only form of communication. Virtual relationships are increasing and real contact evaporating. I don't know if that's our message or theme, but it's certainly what interests us.''

Photo: A performance of ''Alladeen,'' set in an Indian call center. It opens at BAM on Tuesday. (Photo by Ken Walczak)

Benedict Nightingale is the chief theater critic of The Times of London.